Name Games

I’ve had a few issues with my name recently.

Firstly, I’ve become an expert speller. I spell my name with ultimate eloquence and clarity approximately 50 times a day as I speak to Liberians, Columbians, Americans, Lords, Ladies and teenagers amongst the other wonderful people you encounter in journalism. They just can’t seem to grasp it and I never thought I would suffer from the sheer fatigue of spelling my name.

I often think that for work purposes I should change it to Sarah Smith or Amy Jones. But those of you who know me will agree I don’t look like a Sarah or act like an Amy (if Sarah or Amy look or act like anything)– somehow I just could not pull it off.

Then there’s pronouncing my name. The French guests I speak to give the ‘R’ a run for its money, whilst the British love to turn the ‘U’ into an ‘ooooo’. The Italians make my name sound like a lot of fun, as if they bouncing it up and down.

Names have really been giving me a hard time – and not just my own.

8am, Holborn station and from amongst the crowd I hear a charming voice call my name. I smile at the young lady as she greets me with real joy. And as she walks towards me I turn on the rewind button in my brain. I zoom through my university days, school, travels …. I even go back to nursery – I just do not know who she is. She on the other hand knows my life story.

And therein is the dilemma. Do I embarrass the hell out of both of us by telling her I do not have a clue who she is, or do I play along hoping I won’t get caught out. The torture was unbearable.

And so I ask her after 5 minutes – “who on Earth are you?” She courteously reintroduces herself but I can tell our friendship is over. Even I wouldn’t want to be friends with someone who fails to remember my name and hence leaves me with no identity. We exchange numbers, I spell my name…. again.

This is not the first time I have found myself in such a cringeworthy situation. I cannot seem to mentally imprint the faces of all the people I meet on the walls of my brain. My brutal honesty in telling these people I have not recollection of ever meeting them puts me (and them) in the epitome of embarrassing situations. I should spare them.

But hey, I am from time to time victim to this social crisis myself.

My boss the other day called me Nisha for quite a few hours and I politely went along with it. I did indeed become Nisha for the day and well no one had any problems spelling my name. It was a bit of a social experiment taking on a whole new identity as Nisha. I also did not have the courage to tell him he’d just re-christened me. I’ve had another boss not call me nothing for an entire shift. I’d much rather be Nisha than nameless. They asked a question hoping my head would be the one to pop up from behind the computer. Which of course it always did.


The name game is definately one game I do not like playing.

You Lazy Cow

Many of you may think that the Thinking Cow has either gone into hibernation or is plain lazy. Reality is that the Thinking Cow’s brain has been in overdrive, consumed with the various facets of the financial crisis, conflict in Congo and Obama mania amongst other headlines stories. A risky combination of night shifts, early starts and sheer journalistic exhaustion (or exhilaration) has meant that the Thinking Cow has had to switch off for a while. As the winter months draw in though, the Thinking Cap is back on and the Cow is back in action.